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We wait two.
Each minute ticks by with agonizing slowness, and Linc moves his car several times, just to make sure no one notices us loitering suspiciously and calls the cops. At a little after eleven, I catch his gaze and nod. We can’t wait any longer. We need to be sure Hollowell is out of the house, but if we wait too long, we risk getting caught when he returns.
There’s no gate blocking the driveway of his house. The wall around his property seems to be intended more for privacy than as a deterrent to trespassers—but I did notice a security camera mounted on the wall, angled to capture the driveway.
So we park a few blocks away and walk, then climb over the wall in the same spot the guys did when they spied on him a few weeks ago. Hollowell seems to consider himself an outdoorsy man; his property is heavily wooded, probably so he can imagine he’s living in some remote hunting lodge or something.
But it works out well for us, because there are plenty of trees to use for cover as we creep silently toward the house, communicating only by gestures and low whispers. It’s warmed up in the past few days, but there’s still some snow on the ground—just little patches here and there where it piled up the thickest and was the slowest to melt. We make sure to avoid those parts, not wanting to leave any obvious footprints or disturbances.
I spot the bathroom windows as we round the side of the large, sleek house, and my heart clutches in my chest. This is it. If Hollowell realized I opened it, or if I didn’t open it wide enough, our plan will crash to an abrupt halt right now.
Tugging on River’s hand to make sure I have his attention, I murmur, “The farthest one on the right.”
He nods once, and the five of us make our way slowly toward the house. We scanned for cameras and couldn’t see any that captured this angle, but I still move at a low crouch.
River reaches the window first, and my entire body tenses as he touches the glass, half expecting the ear-splitting screech of an alarm to blast through the air.
But the yard stays quiet and still.
And the window doesn’t move.
Fuck.
Fucking ball sucking motherfucker.
Did Hollowell notice it after all? Did he close it? Or did I just not open it enough?
I tap River’s shoulder. “Let me try.”
He nods and shifts out of the way so I can approach the window. It looks completely closed, but I use my fingernails to try to latch onto the bottom edge of the pane.
For a moment, nothing happens. Then the pane of glass shifts upward.
My insides seem to liquify with relief, and I push a little harder, forcing the window open about three inches.
“Boost. Give me a boost.”
Almost before I finish saying the words, four sets of hands converge on me, lifting me effortlessly in the air until I’m level with the window. I’m pretty sure Chase is the one palming my ass, and if I weren’t about to pass out from nerves, I’d probably enjoy this quite a bit.
Trusting them to hold me up, I use the better leverage to lift the window even higher. When it’s wide enough to fit through, the guys help me clamber through the open space.
It’s not graceful at all, but I get inside without falling or disturbing anything in the bathroom, so I’ll take it.
I turn around to help the guys inside, and they boost each other from the yard outside until those of us inside the bathroom outnumber the ones left outside. Chase comes last, scrambling up the side of the house as the guys pull him through the window.
When we’re all safely inside, I close the window so we don’t let a bunch of cold air in—I don’t know if Hollowell would notice that, but I don’t want to tip him off that anything is amiss.
Brushing off my hands, I jerk my head toward the bathroom door. I didn’t notice any cameras inside Hollowell’s house the two times I was here, and although I wasn’t looking for them the first time, I definitely was the second.
I thought that was a little strange at first—after all, Linc’s dad has security cameras inside their house. But then it occurred to me that maybe a man who was sleeping with an underage girl wouldn’t want his every move recorded, even if it was by his own security system.
Of course, it’s possible he has hidden cameras I didn’t see. But we just need to take that risk and hope we find something useful enough to justify it. Some hint at whatever other reason Hollowell might’ve had for killing Iris.
“Look for an office or a study or something,” I murmur as we slip into the hallway. “Anywhere he’d keep important stuff.”
It’s a long shot, maybe. But I’m still convinced there was something else going on that made Hollowell kill the blonde cheerleader. Something more than her pregnancy.
Poking around in Samuel Black’s study is what led me to the birth certificate proving that his infidelity had resulted in a baby and that the child was his, although at the time, I thought it was about Linc. I’m hoping we’ll be able to find something like that here. Something Hollowell wants to keep hidden.
